


Thunder or Grenades

by Parragone



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Blanket Forts, Multi, Smoking, Thunderstorms, anxiety descriptions, different stories same event, gustave is tired, i will die with my ships, ill add more tags as i add more stories, let the sniper live, lion is a clingy bastard when he's tired, non graphic ptsd descriptions, rarepair hell, these chapters are getting longer send help, this will be the death of me.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:34:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23101789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parragone/pseuds/Parragone
Summary: A terrible thunderstorm too early in the morning, too many scars that nobody can see. A collection of stories from Team Rainbow.
Relationships: Azucena RocÍo "Amaru" Quispe/Sanaa "Nomad" El Maktoub, Dominic "Bandit" Brunsmeier/Elias "Blitz" Kötz, Gustave "Doc" Kateb/Gilles "Montagne" Touré, Mark "Mute" Chandar/James "Smoke" Porter, Maxim "Kapkan" Basuda/Timur "Glaz" Glazkov, Mike "Thatcher" Baker/Jordan "Thermite" Trace, Olivier "Lion" Flament/Julien "Rook" Nizan, Shuhrat "Fuze" Kessikbayev/Marius "Jäger" Streicher
Comments: 5
Kudos: 120





	1. A Doctor's Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> dabs  
> i regret nothing expect so much fluff itll hurt

Mornings were hard. Being roused before daybreak by a clap of thunder that rattled your bones was arguably harder.

Gilles had woken first, as he always seemed to. The rain was pouring down from the sky, the window to the shared room almost rattling with the weight of water slamming against it. It was hard to hear over the sound; it was constant, like white noise. It was hard to hear, but if he strained, he could hear the shuffling of bodies on the floor below. The others had been woken as well, and judging from the faint yet audible Russian swearing and terrified scream from the SAS rooms, the noise had resembled combat to more than one exhausted operator.

Gustave hadn’t woken to the first thunderclap. He had slept through it, likely too tired to be roused by anything that wasn’t God himself. It was the ensuing scream that made Gustave tense in Gilles’ arms, and the second thunderclap that woke him as it made the windows shudder. He tried to sit up, to jump out of bed and immediately respond as he’d been trained. It was Gilles who stopped him, and it was Gilles that dealt with the clutch of panic from the physically exhausted doctor. His nightshirt was tighter than he liked it when Gustave gripped the fabric so tightly, and yet it was barely a footnote in his mind.

They didn’t say anything. They didn’t have to. It would take a few minutes for Gustave to find his surroundings, to realize what had happened; the mountain of a protector was all too willing to keep the doctor from lunging to help a situation that would only make him worse. He ran a hand over his partner’s hair, pressing his lips to the crown of his head and gently humming the song they loved to dance to. He repeated the action as gently as he could, as carefully as he could, until the doctor looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. Even in the near-total darkness, Gilles could see his fatigue.

“Thunderstorm?” The tone was so weary that Gilles was almost convinced the man had fallen asleep in the middle of asking.

“Yes, ma chérie. You are not alone in being woken by it.” He pulled away slightly to let his partner sit up in the bed now that the initial panic had passed. He himself didn’t go through the effort, laying back on the pillows and watching the doctor’s movements. “I believe I heard Timur swearing when I woke.”

“It sounded like a grenade,” Gustave replied, giving his love a weak smile and quietly taking Gilles’ hand in his own. “Or a claymore. All I could think was I fell asleep during a training operation again- or worse, I had somehow crashed in the middle of an actual operation.”

“I would have woken you much sooner, Gustave,” Gilles chuckled, tone gentle. “Though that tells me you have not been sleeping to the point you yourself admit there is a fault.”

“I am trying, mon bouclier, my Gilles. It is… hard, when I keep trying to keep everyone else on the team safe. For a blacker-than-black site of highly trained operatives, not all of us are very good with self care, it seems.”

Gilles snorted before bursting into all-out snickering, followed by using a pillow to muffle his laughter. Gustave’s puzzled expression only worsened it, causing a lapse in the conversation filled only by a mix of rolling thunder and deep laughter.

“Gustave, I think everyone on this site has a terrible habit or three that gets them through the day. We are in a constant trauma state - as if any of us need to deal with more post-traumatic stress when we retire,” he finally got out. “From your insomnia to James deciding that no bullet can hurt him more than you can heal him, I think we have plenty of range on bad habits.”

Gustave’s face went from confused, to thoughtful - and then to amused, hiding a smile by lowering and shaking his head. He laid back, a smile on his face that was both weary and loving as he turned his head to look at the protective love he’d had the honor of sharing a life with. He squeezed Gilles’ hand, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He didn’t open his eyes when his lover spoke again, nor when another roll of thunder rushed overhead.

“You can only save others if you save yourself too, Gustave. Get some sleep. I think that the window needs to be checked again.”

“And the other agents?”

“Considering I cannot hear anyone screaming or swearing loudly enough to wake the dead, I believe they have found comfort in those around them as well. Rest, Gustave. You can check in the morning.”

The doctor settled into the blankets again, cracking an eye open only when Gilles settled into the bed beside him again. The heavy weight of his love's arm fell over him again, and the warmth that only came from a shared bed and a genuine love accompanied it. Gustave tucked his head under his partner's chin, listening to the deep humming that came with the drowsy large man.

Gilles waited until Gustave had truly fallen asleep before allowing him to drift off again. He waited until the breathing evened out and steadied, and the grip fully loosened, the body he held close to relax. Then, and only then, Gilles allowed himself to sleep beside him.


	2. Instinct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glaz freezes. Kapkan is fine with this.

The shift in the bed was sudden enough to catch his attention. 

Maxim's eyes were heavy as he peered into the dimly lit room, only to be surprised by the brilliant flash of light only a storm could produce. Then he heard it; thunder and rain, the mother and father of so much life. Old friends, for him. He slowly sat up, gathering his surroundings until he felt Timur's hand, trembling ever so slightly, grasp his own.

The sniper was pale, stock-still and frozen in his position. Maxim recognized the instinct once he had looked properly at his partner; the instinct to stay perfectly still and pray the other sniper didn't see you. The grip on his own hand could choke the life from rock, the slight tremble only barely there. It was something that Glaz had done only a few times before- when he had a gun fired next to his head.

The trapper laid back down gently, careful and slow, as though trying to not startle a wild animal. Timur's grip was already loosening, the span of a few seconds having passed with painstaking eternities. Not a word was spoken as Maxim raised an arm and allowed his partner to get closer, clinging with an almost painful rigidity. Of course, the thunder was uncomfortable when it rattled the windows like this; another roll of the sky sent a shudder down Timur's spine. It wasn't combat, but for someone whose life depended on a single sound that rang like a thunderclap in the silence, it was understandable to struggle with things like this when you were only barely awake. 

Maxim pressed his lips to Timur's hair, shifting his legs just enough to tangle with the sniper's. He held him close, feeling each muscle relax and the tension slowly leave an exhausted body. Every breath was matched, each shared exhale marked with the trapper running a hand over the sniper's hair. Eventually, after their shared slow forever, Timur finally looked up at him and shifted one of his hands to cup Maxim's cheek, pulling him forward just slightly enough for a kiss.

"Feeling better?" Maxim was attentive, even in the dark; no details, but enough body language to show the tired relaxation in his partner. 

"Never liked thunderstorms," Tumur replied, resting his forehead on his love's collarbone. "Did not mean to wake you." 

"I sleep light. I love to be here for you," came the murmured reply. "Do you want to watch the rain for a while?" 

"Only if we bring the blankets." 

Maxim shifted again, pulling himself from his lover with a slight reluctance. He got up first, pulling his robe from the bedside table before moving around the side of the bed. He elected against a warning, instead sliding his hands under the sniper and the blankets and picking both up together. It earned him a pair of arms around his shoulders and Timur's face in his neck, even as he made his way to the chair in the room and leaned back just enough to watch the rain through the curtains. 

It was near daybreak when Timur was comfortably asleep again, wrapped in the blankets and head resting on Maxim's shoulder. The sun was peering over the edge of the horizon, the faintest golden light refracting through the curtain of rain before Maxim allowed himself to sleep again. 

Tomorrow would be easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i trIED TO KEEP THIS IN CHARACTER


	3. Muted Frustrations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark doesn't know what a sleep schedule is and James just wants him to sleep

James grumbled as he woke to the glow of a phone and the loss of blankets.

He tugged at the blankets, before realizing that he was tugging at an angle; he cracked his eyes open to stare at the wall. The rain was loud- very loud, considering the roll of thunder that rattled the window. There was a scream from the next room over, cut off by what sounded like a fall. Thatcher must have had a bad reaction to the storm; to be expected from an old soldier with a lot of old memories. 

He sat up, rubbing his face and running his hands through his hair as he looked to his side. Mark was sitting up on his side of the bed, leaning against the headboard and messing on his phone; his headphones were on, and he looked like he hadn’t gotten any sleep at all. From what James could guess, purely off Mark’s movements, he was watching something that wasn’t actually interesting. White noise.

He watched for a while, the repetitive movements of Mark’s fingers being his focus. The middle and ring fingers of both hands tapped in time with each other, presumably to the music of whatever he was listening to. His knees had been pulled up to his chest, which explained the loss of blankets James had suffered. His eyes had dark circles under them, and looked strained even in the simmed light of the phone screen. 

He reached, placing a hand on Mark’s shoulder, before bursting out into laughter at the ensuing jump - which just so happened to send the phone flying into his face, which made him laugh harder. His eye hurt, and he covered it with his palm, but the expression on Mark's face made the entire situation so much worse and garnered more and more laughter.

Absolutely baffled, yet apologetic, confusion. 

"You saw I had headphones on, right?" Mark asked, even as he took said headphones off. He was reaching with his free hand the cup James' face, the worry etched into his eyes a familiar sight for the chemist. “Did I hit you-”

“I earned it, don’t fret none,” James laughed, waving the hand away. “If Doc asks, I’ll tell ‘im I fell against the headboard or summat.” He wasn’t going to tell Mark that a smartphone to the eyeball hurt, especially when he took chalk rounds to the face more often than a phone. 

“James.”

“I’ll see him in the morning, love. More concerned about you about now.” His tone was a little more final than Mark’s, and enough that the other man chewed his lip and grumpily reached across James’ lap to grab the phone from the crack between the bed and the wall. Given the height difference, James couldn’t really do anything about it, but that didn’t mean he didn’t grab one wrist as Mark pulled back again.

The young genius of a man gave him a sour look, and James snickered as he released the wrist, but made a point of holding the hand closest to him as Mark got settled back in. The headphones came off his neck, instead sitting on the bedside dresser as Mark squirmed down into the blankets.

“How long have you been up, love?”

The silence was deafening until it was finally broken- in the same way silence would settle in your stomach when you couldn’t see the enemy. “Hour or two. Woke up for water. Almost got back to sleep before the thunder and flashin’ got to me. Then the rain started hitting harder and I stopped trying to sleep. Figured watching some drivel would help.”

“Has it?” Of course not. 

This time, the silence wasn’t as heavy. Mark squeezed the chemist’s hand with reluctance, not meeting his eyes as the pounding of rainfall filled the room. James shifted and settled back down, hand in hand with Mark as the younger man stared at the blankets. He wanted to pry, to push and make his lover speak, but knew better. He knew that force never worked on Mark, and that it was easier to let the man speak on his own.

He waited for a few minutes. Then he turned on his side, back to the wall, to look at Mark. The Brit wasn’t asleep yet, but he was staring at the hand the chemist had given him. He had turned onto his side, running his fingers over the rough calluses across James’ hands that came from so many years of firing weaponry. The minor scarring from dozens of training exercises, from scraps in unfortunate places; even the dents in his skin that had no real explanation to them.

Mark was fixated on James, something the latter had gotten used to when Mark couldn’t focus on anything else. They stayed in relative silence, beyond the occasional shift or shuffle of sheets and blankets, or the turn of James to give Mark the other hand. The rain had started to let up by the time the engineer had finally drifted back into sleep, late enough in the morning that the sun had begun to peek through the blinds. Late enough that James could move the blankets off himself and slip his hand from Mark’s, and make sure the blinds would stay closed.

Late enough that he could get dressed and yet leave his jacket over the blankets, the smell of his cologne sticking to the collar. Gently, James opened the door, in his uniform pants and a black tank top, and slipped out with one more glance to Mark’s sleeping form, now curled up and clutching at the jacket over him. He didn't fight the smile that crept over his face. 

"What did I ever do to deserve someone like you?" He backed out of the room, closing the door softly. "See you 'round noon, love."


	4. Enough?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike has a lot of bad memories. Jordan loves him anyway.

It sounded like a cascade of explosions, one frag after another, the floors being torn to hell and the walls caving in-

The slam of his shoulder on the cold floor was enough to jolt him awake, and then the hand gripping the other side was registered; the voice he couldn't quite make out, the environment he couldn’t make out. It was dark, it was cold, it was uncomfortable, familiar, and suffocating all at once. The air was thick, but it didn’t smell like broken wood or wasted gunfire. He could smell cologne, the soap he always used -

“Mike, can you hear me?”

Jordan. He whirled his head, expecting injuries in the dark and glowing embers of melted metal. He didn’t expect Jordan to be in a loose tee, hair a tousled mess, face a worried and exhausted expression. He really, really didn’t expect to see the lightning snap outside the window, the line breaking the sky in two before a roll of thunder shattered the white noise. It wasn’t a firefight.

It was just a thunderstorm.

He stared, blinking, too disoriented to find the words he needed to express what was happening in his head; Jordan’s hand let go of his arm for a moment, just long enough for him to get out of bed and on the floor with him. Mike felt Jordan take his hands, registered his face; no paint, no ash, no soot. No helmet, no goggles. Just Jordan and his half-tilted smile, worried and gentle and the softest squeeze of his hands as he spoke. 

“Mike, babe, where'd you go?" 

The look on the younger man's face earned a weak sigh from Mike. It wasn't a fair fight, really. Jordan was so patient for him when he was like this, always far too willing to lovingly accept everything Mike had to say and happy to help him find his footing. 

"Remember the mission went wrong, where Mark had three bullets in him and Elias' arm looked like it got stuck in a grease fire??" 

"Yeah, I remember. The same one that threw Jack out the window and nearly broke his leg."

“I thought we were there," Mike replied blearily. "I thought I was looking up to see you bloody and ashed.” 

“Nasty place to go,” Jordan replied, lifting a hand to the other man’s cheek. “Nastier place to wake up in. Are you gonna be okay?”

“I think,” that was followed by the least convincing grumbling he could utter, “I’ll be right in a minute.”

“And I think that’s a load of shit, and I think you also know that to boot,” the American replied. "You won't sleep until tomorrow night and that's after being an absolute jackass during the training sim today." 

Mike blinked at him, mouth trying to form a response. He felt called out and mildly disgruntled by the fact his lover was so willing to lay him out like that. Eventually, he settled on an indignant huff and a sour expression, because he couldn't refute what was right.

Jordan helped him onto his feet, smile still there as the thunder crashed again. Instead of forcing Mike to go to bed like the elder had expected him to, the younger operator instead pulled his jacket on over the shirt he was wearing. With the combination of his pants and the jacket, he looked like he was getting up for the day. 

"I think I am gonna go start breakfast," the American announced to no one in particular. "And I'm bringing you with me." 

"I'm sorry?" The Brit sounded disarmed. "Why cooking?"

"Because you like two things besides yours truly," Jordan snorted. "Knives, and food. So instead of letting you get lost in feeling bad about being, you know, a veteran with post-traumatic stress disorder-" 

"Stop calling me out or I swear to the Queen's britches I'll toss you in the rain."

"You and me are gonna go stress cook, and be productive to boot." Jordan's voice barely betrayed his worry, his own anxiety. It was at that moment Mike realized precisely how worried the younger man must have been to see him panicked and confused like that. 

Jordan had already given him his jacket and helped him get proper pants on - primarily so Taina didn't throw slippers at them - before Mike really had a concept of what he was trying to put to words. He sat on the edge of the bed with a heavy sigh, earning a concerned and confused look from his partner. 

"Jordan," he started, "Why?" 

"Why what?" 

"You're so young. I'm over twenty years your senior. I've seen shit, done shit, you probably didn't even know could happen when I did them. You dream of things so happy and safe and every time I close my eyes it's like watching a static telly or worse, seeing the soldiers I lost because of mistakes." He shook his head as he dropped his face down, resting his forehead on his palms. "I don't understand why you choose to spend your days with some cranky old fashioned soldier when there are others you could spend your life with." He closed his eyes, feeling both relief and frustration at having said anything at all.

He felt Jordan sit beside him. He felt the hand on his thigh and heard the sigh before the American began talking. 

"Mike, babe, it's because I'm happy with you. You've seen some things I can't begin to grasp or help you with. You've got scars, and I can't see them all, sure. But that doesn't change the fact you make me happy."

"I feel like I have to be fixed, Jordan. To be worth you." 

"Maybe I like you with your broken parts," the younger man retorted. "Your cracks and old parts don't make you less of a man, Mike. You make me happy every time I see you, even if you're grumpy as all hell when I do. I don't wanna fix you, I want you to be happy even if you're a bit broken." 

Mike lifted his head, eyes weary. "Even if a fuckin' thunderstorm sends me back to one of the worst missions we ever did?" 

The smile on Jordan's face was enough. "You could wake up in Hell and I'd be there to help you find your way out." 

Maybe it was the fact Jordan wanted him, or maybe it was the sheer idea that the American thought he was worth the time. The smile that crept onto his face was one that reached his eyes, for once. “Right, then. Breakfast. For…”

“Thirty-eight people?”

“Is it really that many now?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the angriest brit is slightly soft


	5. Dance in the Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amaru and Nomad love the rain for different reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can i just say in advance Amaru is adorable and Nomad is sweet

There were a lot of things that Azucena was used to. Dense jungle, tight spaces, heavy rainfall. The thunder of a rainstorm that rolled and rocked the sky like nature’s drums.

She wasn’t used to watching Sanaa laugh in the rain before the sunrise or the laughter that came from the wandering operator as she relished the soak. The smile on Sanaa’s face was enough for Azucena, even in the fluorescent light of the overhead lamps. She didn’t have to be out in the rain to see how much her partner enjoyed it, though she wondered why the rain brought out so much joy in the wandering operator’s heart.

The rain itself was coming down in sheets, and so Sanaa was staying close enough to run back under cover when the rain got too heavy. When another heavy sheet came down, Azucena laughed at the mad dash the Moroccan made for shelter. Sanaa was soaked through to the skin, but she was laughing nonetheless, a sound that made the archeologist shake her head and sigh.

“You’re going to catch a cold like that,” Azucena scolded lightly. “Doc will have your head.”

“I cannot catch a cold if you’re keeping me warm, my adventurer.”

Azucena almost contested, but the sky interrupted with a flash. She assumed it was striking the roof, metal as it was, and instead ushered her soaked partner into the building. Once inside, she caught a glimpse of Thatcher and Thermite heading to the kitchen through a doorway; the older man looked exhausted, though the younger threw her a wink before pushing his partner along.

She gave him a wave as she moved Sanaa up the stairs, holding onto the wanderer's hand as they made it up the stairs and to one of their rooms; it didn’t truly matter whose room it was, primarily because they often ended up sharing one every other night. Once they were in privacy, Azucena ushered her toward the bathroom. 

“Go, get warm and clean. I’m going to build a surprise for you.”

“Build?” Sanaa’s tone was understandably concerned.

“You will see. Go! I will not have you losing more fingers to cold rain and insistence.”

Sanaa rolled her eyes, giving an affectionate smile as she began to pull off her clothing and move to the bathroom. Once she was gone, Azucena began her work; removing the blankets from the bed and moving the chairs of Sanaa’s workbench to be near it, almost touching the sides. She threw the thinner blankets over the backs of the chairs, creating an indoor tent that would still cover their feet. Inside, she positioned the pillows as best she could; after a moment, she decided to rush to her own room and collect her pillows as quietly as she could. Once returned, she shoved them into the makeshift tent, and with the thickest blanket being thrown in for warmth, her work was complete.

Sanaa came out of the bathroom as Azucena proudly assessed her work, and had to stare at the archeologist’s accomplishment. It looked rather comfortable, and Azucena’s stretch and yawn proved that it was time to put the creation to the test. As the taller of the two women came out of her yawn, she found herself being pushed gently into the tent by the equally tired artist. Soon enough, they were settled in, and happily warm under the covers as they held each other close.

Azucena waited until they were properly comfortable to look at Sanaa’s face, one hand gently brushing damp hair from her cheek. “Why do you dance in the storm?”

Sanaa smiled, with a soft laugh. “Because of those I have lost.”

“... what?”

“A long time ago, I was afraid of thunder. It reminded me of gunfire, of grenades, of a claymore going the wrong way. But after a long time, I stopped being afraid. The fellow soldiers I lost to those grenades and those bullets, they would not want me to be so afraid to live. I love life, Azucena. I love to live as though every day is my last because one day it will be, and to shirk the gifts life gives me just because I’m afraid,” she pauses. She trails off, a wistful smile on her face, her eyes distant.

Sanaa tightens her grip on her lover’s hands, pressing her forehead to the taller woman’s brow in a gentle touch. 

“I do not want to waste my life in fear of a sound when the source is so beautiful.”

Azucena smiles, shifting and pressing a kiss to Sanaa’s forehead. She freed one hand to pull the blankets higher, wrapping them both in warmth. “Then next time I will have to join you.”

“I would like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rarepair hell; engage.
> 
> also god bless grammarly


	6. Phone Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuze thinks he should be okay. 
> 
> [ narrator voice: he is not ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's 5:45 am and i can't sleep so yeehaw  
> this is a replacement for the original fuze/jager chapter that I wasn't happy with so I am sorry

Anxiety was hard enough without a storm aggravating it.

It was around five in the morning, based on the clock hanging on the workshop’s wall. No one else was in the area, which made the eerie near-silence somewhat worse. Shuhrat focused on trying to disassemble his AK-12 with trembling hands, frustration bubbling beneath his inability to sleep from the thunder. He had woken with flashes of the operation gone so terribly wrong, the scream of the victim that wasn’t supposed to be there, the yelling from Mei Lin about what he’d done.

His first instinct was to find Marius. It was only after he’d staggered to the workshop in the dark, eyes burning from a mix of lack of sleep and unfettered crying, that he remembered the German and four other operatives were on a short protection mission. He couldn’t find it in him to leave the empty room after his realization, and so instead took his seat at the table next to the controlled chaos of Marius’ desk.

The light of the lamp was enough to see by, and yet he still found his vision blurry and unsatisfactory. His hands trembled so much that full disassembly was nigh impossible, even though he knew the weapon like the cracks in the cover of his favourite book. It stung his pride further, he felt cheated; he should be fine, he should be able to handle a thunderstorm without collapsing to pieces-

_And mama said,_   
_“Dontcha worry, dontcha worry chiiiild-_   
_Heaven’s got a plan for you-”_

Shuhrat nearly jumped out of his skin at the ringtone Grace had set for Marius on everyone’s phone. He cursed, audibly, but he wasn’t sure what he’d said or which language he’d said it in. He didn’t bother trying to figure it out, instead taking the phone and answering it as quickly as he could without dropping it.

“Marius?” he asked once he had the phone to his ear, voice more level than he’d expected it to be. “Are you not on a mission?”

“Just landed,” the German replied, accent thicker than normal. The man must have been exhausted by the assignment. “We almost had to go to a different tarmac. This storm is something else.”

“It is loud,” Shuhrat confirmed. “And early.”

“Yeah, that’s part of why I called. It sounded particularly bad, so I thought to call you once we landed and check in on you. You sometimes have issues sleeping through loud noises like this, so I thought maybe you would be woken up or not able to sleep at all if it has been this way all night.” There was a pause, and Shuhrat could hear Seamus in the background, along with Mei Lin and Julien. “Looks like I am not driving! So I can talk to you until we get back to base if you want.”

Leaning back in his chair, Shuhrat reeled. He hadn’t expected this, and yet he felt so much comfort in the idea that Marius cared so much. They had been together for only a few months, only recently having had the conversation about if it was okay and if it was even allowed. He tried to find words, something to tell Marius not to worry-

“Please.”

That wasn’t a denial. He tried again, trying to not feel like a complete wreck.

“Please talk to me. I do not want to be alone.”

He gave up. He couldn’t deny himself, not like this - not when the lifeline he’d sought earlier had found him. Phone or not, this was enough.

“Well, there was an interesting event during our mission. Did you know Seamus is brilliant at golf, and a candela can serve as a fantastic golf ball? I did not. Neither did the group trying to kidnap our assignment! I think they may have seen enough light to think God had come to visit personally. Got to meet him anyway, though…”

Shuhrat closed his eyes, listening to the German talk on and on. It wandered from the mission to an interesting cloud bank that he promised to show the Uzbek pictures of, to an improvement Marius wanted to make on his Magpies. The Engineer excitedly told him about a new recipe for chocolate cookies that he had found in an old cookbook, and then went into a tangent about a bakery they had found in the city they were in.

By the time Marius stopped talking, Shuhrat’s hands had stopped shaking. He hadn’t said a word to interrupt the man, opting to cling to every topic that he had bounced between and clutching to every word. When the engineer said the team had made it back to the base, his tone was both happy and exhausted; Shuhrat decided it was high time he himself went to bed.

“I will meet you in your quarters, Marius.”

“Oooh, I get my bed and my boyfriend? That is worth the wait. See you soon, Liebling!”

The phone’s disconnection was enough for him to finally pull away from it. Shuhrat’s smile reached his eyes as he turned the lamp out, getting up to leave the workshop. He pushed the chair in, pocketing his phone as he went upstairs. He might not sleep tonight, but the company of his partner had already helped him find the peace he desperately needed.


	7. Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're just memories. Not good memories, but memories.  
> Blitz just wants to make Bandit feel better.

Waking up alone wasn't entirely abnormal. What was abnormal was seeing that Dominic had left his coat on the desk chair and the door slightly open, clear signs he had left the room in a hurry. Even in the dark, the evidence toward a hurried exit was undeniable. 

Elias sighed as he blinked the sleep from his eyes, pulling the covers off himself and getting up from the bed. He heard the roll of thunder as he pulled his coat on, another curtain of rain bombarding the side of the building as he slid shoes on and headed out. He followed the usual path downstairs, through the hallways until he reached the back patio area that remained covered all year round. 

Elias smelled the smoke before he saw the man. The sweet yet rancid smell that permeated the air whenever Dominic smoked his favored brand, which usually made Elias complain and huff at his partner. This time was different; Elias made his way over to the tired older man, leaning against the wall beside him. Dominic had been out here long enough to smoke through about half of the stick, but Elias knew well that the man had probably already burned a full one.

“Didn’t think you’d get up,” Dominic stated, voice rougher than normal. “Sorry.”

“Why sorry? You and I both know you smoke to feel better,” Elias replied, gently nudging him with an elbow. “Do you want me to share, or?”

The older man turned his head to look at him with mild skepticism. “Are you asking because you want to or because you want me to relax?”

“The latter, but really, I don’t mind.”

“Of course you don’t. It’s fine, you don’t have to.”

The shield-bearer sighed as he watched Dominic take another drag. He wanted nothing more than to make all of the things that haunted the older man vanish, to ease the pain and the trauma that would never leave him alone. Instead, he was here, with no chance to fix it and only the chance to comfort the man.

“Was it the thunder?”

“Yeah.”

“Want to talk?”

“No.”

He chewed his lip at the answer, looking down to the ground. He tried not to let it get to him, focusing on the rain as it came down in another sheet. Absently, he moved his hand and tentatively threaded his fingers with Dominic’s; when the move wasn’t rejected, he tightened his grip to be just firm enough to be felt. It took a minute for the affection to be reciprocated, the gentle squeeze from the older operator making Elias sigh. He turned his head to look at Dominic, only to find he was making eye contact with him; after a moment, he saw his partner move for a kiss.

It was bittersweet, but pleasantly so; the smoke overpowered the distinctive metallic taste that stuck with Dominic. It wasn’t meant to last as long as it did, nor did he expect to feel Dominic’s hand on his cheek in an attempt to keep the contact going. When they parted, Elias couldn’t help but give a puzzled look, which was answered by the older man shifting entirely to pin Elias against the wall for a proper kiss.

It was, in all honesty, probably inappropriate to kiss like the morning wouldn’t come while they were just outside the door to the base. It was probably a terrible idea to reciprocate as though neither of them was sure the other would be there in the morning. It didn’t quite matter to either of them, though; hands tangled in hair, teeth clicked when one pushed too hard, the taste of smoke lingering between them.

When they finally managed to part, which was reluctant enough as it was, Dominic looked almost desperate to keep contact. Elias didn’t move, cupping the defender’s face in his hands and pressing his forehead to Dominic’s. He could feel the taller man’s hands holding just a little too tight to be anything but needy, the slightest tremble betraying how very not okay he was.

"You can't kiss me until the nightmares go away," the younger man said, looking up at his partner with a mix of worry and adoration. 

"I can kiss you until I forget them," his lover argued, pulling him close for another kiss; this one was quicker, meant to prove a point, not long enough to get very deep. "I can focus on you until every goddamn memory in my head stops repeating like a broken record and I can dream again."

Elias didn't argue, pulling Dominic close enough for another proper kiss; this one was slower, gentler. It wouldn't leave bruises or bloody their lips, they didn't have to wonder where their hands were going. He realized too late that Dominic had dropped the cigarette, feeling fingers on his neck and tangled in his hair. This was easy, being a focal point and sharing affection to keep Dominic grounded. 

“We should go inside,” Elias suggested gently once they separated. “Put out the smoke, we go inside and I will see how well I can distract you from yourself."

“I hate this,” the taller man whispered in return, closing his eyes. “Every time I turn around, you forgive me so willingly and give me so much room to fail. I don’t know why you let me be so broken.”

“Because everyone breaks, Dom. You, me, everyone. But I want you to feel a little more whole, even just for a little while, when you’re with me.”

“I love you. Even if I don't understand how you can be so bright for me.”

“And I love you too, my jaded angel. No matter how hard it is for you to accept it.”

Dominic pulled away slowly, opening his eyes and sighing softly. “Alright, Eli. What's your plan for distractions, then?" 

The shield-bearer nodded with a tired smile. "A movie, a warm blanket, and kisses on request?" 

“Good enough for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blitz is the softest boy in the whole team and i love him so much


	8. Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lion is tired and Rook thinks he's precious.

Julien waved goodnight to his fellow operators as he headed to the cluster of rooms unceremoniously decided to be the GIGN area. The mission had been shockingly simple and relatively easy to accomplish once the VIP actually listened to them. The worst part about the mission was coming home to such a torrential storm that they almost couldn't land. He opened his door, expecting nothing but a note and his pajamas folded nearly at the end of the bed.

Instead, he found Olivier, asleep on his bed with the laptop still open. He had leaned up against the wall, keeping the laptop on his lap and his legs under the blanket. The taller man was still in the uniform he wore under the CBRN suit, the only thing missing being the shoes and mask that he insisted on keeping. He’d clearly fallen asleep a while ago, the laptop screen dark from disuse and hair having developed the early signs of bedhead. 

Julien smiled to himself as he carefully closed the door. He knew Olivier wouldn’t have wanted to sleep on a night when he could greet Julien on his return, much less on a night where it was pouring down rain and rolling thunder. The smaller man pulled his side of the blankets up before he sat on the edge of the bed, unlacing his boots and quietly taking them off to put them beside the bed. He pulled the blankets over himself as he swung his legs up, tucking himself in and figuring he would change his sheets after he showered tomorrow.

He felt the tug on the blankets as he wriggled himself down and under to get comfortable. He looked over to see the CBRN operative stirring, eyes cracked open and reaching to close the laptop on his lap. Olivier moved the laptop off himself, slowly placing it off the bed and on the floor next to it; Julien watched as he tried to grasp his environment and figure out what was going on. The younger operator leaned, gently shaking his boyfriend’s shoulder to get his attention.

“Ah,” Olivier managed, “Quelle heure est-il?” [ What time is it? ]

“Cinq heures du matin. Retourne dormir, Olivier.” [ Five in the morning. Go back to sleep, Olivier. ]

The sour expression on the blonde’s face when the time was revealed was enough to tell Julien that he had no such plans. The man shifted and turned, lifting one arm to wrap around his partner and, to Julien’s surprise, pull him in close to a kiss to the temple. Julien had to process the affection as best he could, hands instinctively reaching up to rest on Olivier’s shoulders.

“Vous venez de rentrer, je voulais vous parler et passer du temps avec vous,” he complained. “Je ne veux pas attendre le matin.” [ You just got home, I wanted to talk to you and hang out with you. I don’t want to wait until morning. ]

Julien couldn’t help the smile that broke out on his face at the innocent yet stubborn insistence of his partner. He pulled the lion of a man down slightly, enough for a kiss to the cheek and a gentle embrace. He could see the exhaustion in the other man’s eyes, the fight to stay awake becoming a losing battle.  
“Qu'est-ce que tu penses? Le matin, nous mangeons et parlons de la mission.” [ What do you think? In the morning, we eat and talk about the mission. ]

The larger man grumbled, lifting his head and burying his face into Julien’s hair; the deep inhale that followed was the best confirmation he would get as Olivier pulled him down into a tired, gentle embrace under the covers. Julien settled in against him, head resting against Olivier’s chest as he pulled the covers to be comfortable. 

He listened for the telltale deep rumble that was Olivier's growl of an exhale, the rumbling sound that mixed with the rain to make a steadier, gentler rhythm than the thunder itself. He closed his eyes once the man beneath him had fully drifted back to sleep, his grip slacking and breathing steady. In the morning, they could talk and Olivier could ask the dozens of questions he always did, and Julien would answer every one he could. 

But that was an eternity away, and the warmth of the moment was worth the wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lion suffers from catathrenia and as such sleep growls are common  
> you can pry this from my cold, dead hands


End file.
